England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Rogues and vagabonds -- Fiction
But why had he not seized me at once? Probably because he had some
ulterior purpose to serve, which would have been thwarted by my
immediate apprehension. What that purpose was I did my best to fathom,
and, as I thought, succeeded in the attempt. What I was to do when the
coach stopped was a more difficult point to settle. To give the runner
the slip, with two women to take care of, was simply impossible. To
treat him, as I had treated Screw at the red-brick house, was equally
out of the question, for he was certain to give me no chance of catching
him alone. To keep him in ignorance of the real object of my journey,
and thereby to delay his discovering himself and attempting to make me a
prisoner, seemed the only plan on the safety of which I could place the
smallest reliance. If I had ever had any idea of following the example
of other runaway lovers, and going to Gretna Green, I should now have
abandoned it. All roads in that direction would betray what the purpose
of my journey was if I took them. Some large town in Scotland would be
the safest destination that I could publicly advertise myself as
bound for. Why not boldly say that I was going with the two ladies to
Edinburgh?
Such was the plan of action which I now adopted.
To give any idea of the distracted condition of my mind at the time when
I was forming it, is simply impossible. As for doubting whether I ought
to marry at all under these dangerous circumstances, I must frankly
own that I was too selfishly and violently in love to look the question
fairly in the face at first. When I subsequently forced myself to
consider it, the most distinct project I could frame for overcoming all
difficulty was, to marry myself (the phrase is strictly descriptive of
the Scotch ceremony) at the first inn we came to, over the Border; to
hire a chaise, or take places in a public conveyance to Edinburgh, as
a blind; to let Alicia and Mrs. Baggs occupy those places; to remain
behind myself; and to trust to my audacity and cunning, when left alone,
to give the runner the slip. Writing of it now, in cool blood, this
seems as wild and hopeless a plan as ever was imagined. But, in the
confused and distracted state of all my faculties at that period, it
seemed quite easy to execute, and not in the least doubtful as to any
one of its probable results.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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